


Pain of the Mark

by VintageSkies



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Camp, Camping, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pain, Solavellan, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, anchor, the mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:24:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3542648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VintageSkies/pseuds/VintageSkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fade mark reacts strangely to magical stimulus/causes discomfort and Solas begins research on how to block it. Since the mark is on Lavellan's hand, however, it inadvertently leads to a lot of hand-holding and prolonged touches. For "research." Written before any serious relationship forms between the two, although Lavellan certainly has feelings for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pain of the Mark

Inquisitor Lavellan’s boots splash and squelch as she makes her way through the shallow stream. Behind her, she hears the metallic clinking of Blackwall’s sword against the metalwork on his shield and Varric’s irritated grumble as he tries, and fails, to avoid the deeper areas.

Closer, though still a few paces away, the apostate is silent as usual. She glances sidelong and wonders what could possibly give him cause for that perplexed look on his face. His eyes, distant and hardened, focus somewhere beyond the trees, yet nowhere in particular. Aerys glances ahead, cursing herself under her breath for staring so long. If she wasn’t careful, he might begin to notice.

Gradually, the ground begins to harden as the party approaches the peak of the diminutive hill. The sound of footsteps ceases as each of them stand there, staring at the rift below.

“This shit never ends, does it?” Blackwall’s gruff voice nearly makes Aerys jump; he stands closer than expected.

“Best get used to it, Hero.” The dwarf’s response is further away, though his voice is not lost to the wind.

Aerys stares down at the swirling mass of green. Even this far away, she can hear the crackling and rippling of the rift. With a sigh, she places her right foot forward and begins the descent down the hill.

About halfway down, she feels the hairs on her neck begin to stiffen. Creators, how she hated going near these cursed things.

At the bottom of the hill, the first demon appears. Varric wastes no time unleashing bolt after bolt while Blackwall draws his sword and rushes forward. Aerys reaches for her staff. Quick, pulsing pain throbs through her arm like wildfire. She inhales sharply, determined not to cry out in the midst of battle, and grabs her wrist.

Solas turns his head, a few paces off.

“Inquisitor!”

She waves him away with her right hand.

“It’s nothing, Solas.” She straightens and lets go of her wrist. Ahead of her, Varric and Blackwall have nearly taken out the first demon, though two more now head towards them.

Grabbing her staff, Aerys hardens her gaze and begins a fiery onslaught. Reluctantly, Solas turns back to the battle and focuses his attention on the influx of demons.

 

 

 

With their final enemy dead, Aerys raises her hand and winces as her mark and the rift connect momentarily. She quickly tries to hide her discomfort, turning her back as subtly as she can. The rift explodes like green fireworks and Aerys clenches her hand into a fist before trudging forward.

For the first few minutes, she finds herself on a perpetual rollercoaster of fear and relief. Fear that the pain would only get worse, or worse, that someone noticed. Relief that the rift was closed and the pain seemed to disappear with it. For now.

Lost in her own thoughts, Aerys fails to notice as Solas progressively increases his gait to catch up with her.

“Inquisitor,” his voice is low but gentle, “how are you feeling?”

“Solas, I, uh, didn’t see you there.” She nervously shoves her hand in her pocket.

“I apologize. I had no intention of startling you.”

“It’s quite alright. I was just…thinking.”

“Thinking?”

She didn’t have to look to know he had raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“About what, exactly? Would it happen to involve that mark on your hand? It seems it is bothering you.”

“No, it, I mean, uh, yes. But I am fine. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“You should be careful, Inquisitor. Even after inspecting the mark, I have no idea from whence it came. I do not wish to alarm you, but I fear it may be spreading as it did before.”

“I appreciate your concern, Solas, but I believe I am fine. Should anything change, I will certainly let you know.” Inside, her heart began to race – was she _really_ okay? Was the mark _actually_ spreading again? And, Fen’Harel forbid, would it hurt every time she stepped near a rift?

With a slight nod, Solas slowed his pace until Aerys was once again marching ahead. Glancing around and finding Varric and Blackwall deep in conversation about jousting, Aerys pulls her hand from her pocket. The soft green glow is brighter than she remembers it, or is that an effect of the sun? She runs her fingers over her palm expecting some sort of reaction, though it merely feels numb. Without the ability to study it further for fear she might trip or lead the party straight into a tree, Aerys lets her hand fall to her side as she searches for a place to make camp.

 

 

That night, Aerys wakes suddenly as if someone has tugged her spirit to life. She sits forward, beads of sweat on her temples. Breathing heavily, she looks around. She holds her breath for a moment, listening intently. Everything is quiet save for the occasional sounds of the forest. Her Dalish vision grants her the comfort of elevated vision, and she relaxes once she realizes she is safely inside her tent.

“Aneth ara, Inquisitor.”

Aerys jumps and pulls the blanket to her chest. Solas sits, cross-legged, his staff beside him on the ground.

“Dirthara-ma, Solas! You startled me!”

“Ir abelas, da’len. I intended no such thing. I merely came to inspect your hand.”

“In the middle of the night? In my _tent_?” She continues to clutch the blanket, though the thought of him watching over her was rather comforting.

“Again, my apologies if I have offended you. I felt it was necessary to best understand the situation. If you would not let me inspect your mark while you were awake, then I must do it whilst you slept, especially since it is then that you are most susceptible.”

“You never even asked!”

“I did not have to, da’len. I could sense your fear; you would not let me look even if I had asked.”

Aerys sighs. He was right, though she chose to remain silent rather than admit it.

“So.” She finally releases the blanket. “What did you learn?”

“While you slept, your mark seemed rather stable. However, as you entered deeper phases of sleep, it began to glow more intently. Just before you woke up, you began to mumble and writhe. It appears your mark was causing you much discomfort. I chose to wake you before it got any worse.”

“Ma serannas,” she mumbles. She looks down at her hand, slightly pulsing with dull pain. She wriggles her fingers and sighs contentedly as it causes her no extra pain.

“It was my pleasure, da’len.” He pauses, and she feels her heart skip a beat. “I wish to research this further as soon as possible. Might I recommend we return to Skyhold at first chance? There, at least, you will be far away from fade rifts. Perhaps I might find something of use in the library.”

Aerys nods and a piece of her hair falls from the braid she uses to tame her hair while she sleeps.

“It appears that is our best option.” She pauses too, and the silence engulfs the air around them until she feels compelled to cough nervously just to hear a sound.

“Solas?” She says at last.

“Yes?”

“You can study the mark whenever you wish.” She prays the slight color in her cheeks goes unnoticed in the darkness. “I, uhm, think that would be best, you know, for…well, everything.” She bites the inside of her lip as if to reprimand herself for sounding so foolish.

“Certainly, da’len. I will do my best.” He reaches his hand towards her, palm up. “May I?”

She sits frozen for a moment until she realizes what he’s asking.

“Oh…of course.” She places her hand in his and tries to calm her thoughts as they buzz around in her brain.

She watches him silently and smiles to herself as he gently turns her hand over, softly prods the skin every now and then, and raises her hand above his head as if he might discover some hidden meaning from the angle.

Perhaps her mark was useful for something after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This was response to a prompt by tumblr user prettylittledarkspawn.


End file.
